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Soft Pretzel Love

More weird dreams…

So last night I dreamt I’d moved back to San Francisco , and was commenting that the reason I’d never bothered to get a Pennsylvania drivers’ license was because I hated it, and never intended to stay long.

Hmmm.

First off, that’s total bollocks as I’ve already been toiling in the city of brotherly love for over a year now, second, I just agreed to stick on at my paid gig for the long haul as a permanent employee. (Though I am staunchly attached to my NY documentation.)

Yep, it’s true: I’m now very gainfully employed on a permanent basis. Not like I want to spread it around too much, or people will start hitting me up for loans, or spitting on me for selling out for some decent health insurance and a window, but I’ve done it. Damnit.

That, of course, doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes really miss the city by the bay, but more than the city I miss the life I had there, which is the polar opposite of the quasi-respectable one I currently inhabit.

I miss acting completely irresponsibly, sex drugs and rock and roll, tattoos and piercings, late nights in the studio, awesome burritos, getting wrecked in mosh pits, bad boys (and girls), and the stupidity of unbridled youth.

What I do not miss is being too poor to eat, mice everywhere, od’ing on sex, drugs and rock and roll, feeling like there was no future, not being able to go to the doctor when I was sick or injured, and the stupidity of unbridled youth.

Are there people out there like me? I can’t help but wonder. So far I’ve met very bad, nice and rather dull, or just so different neither of us can comprehend.

I’ve an idea I should listen to Mags and Mike, and just get myself out there more than I already have.

Oh, just not to the Green Line Café, at least not the original one on Baltimore: dragged myself and stuff there yesterday a.m., only to be met by hordes of yuppie parents toting children. Christ all fucking mighty – do they not have places to go? Like, Chuck E. Cheese or Disney?!!? We non-breeders would like to drink our coffee and read the sex ads in the back of the City Paper in peace, thank you very much.

The Green Line should just fill its fenced in front yard area with brightly colored plastic balls and be done with it…

Allegedly if they’re yours (the kids, not the balls) you don’t mind them nearly as much. That’s good to know, in case I someday decide to spawn, I won’t be sitting there going, “Christ, would you shut the fuck up? Where are your parents? Oh, wait, shit, that’s me…”